


Sundays are for coffee and cookies

by GoldenEye



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU, Blushing, Cookies, Javert allows Valjean to call him by his forename, M/M, See this man has so much time, Smoking, Stargazing, Valjean is a baker, Valjean thinks about Javerts sexuality, again i am sorry, valvert - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4897873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenEye/pseuds/GoldenEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert is kinda confused when he realised that the feelings he has for Valjean are more then friendship but a part of him is scared to admit it. In the meantime Valjean knows already that he loves Javert but there is something he didn't know for sure. </p><p>Not related to the previous story I wrote for these two</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sundays are for coffee and cookies

**Author's Note:**

> A big Thank you goes to my betareader on here autumngracy <3  
> These are the cookies Valjean makes for Javert -> http://www.driscolls.com/recipes/view/8003/Chocolate-Shortbread-Sandwich-Cookies-with-Fresh-Raspberry-Buttercream-Filling

Valjean loved his job as baker, but every now and then he wanted to bake something else besides bread in different variations. Sometimes he made macaroons and sold them, but it was only on special occasions since his customers usually wanted bread and not sweets.  
The only person who got homemade sweets from him was his adopted daughter Cosette, in the form of delicious cakes, but he couldn’t send her parcels every week. However, there was another person who had a sweet tooth and admired Valjean’s baking skills.

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when Valjean was sitting on his couch with a cup of black coffee, a list of possible ingredients, and his laptop on his knees, searching for a recipe he could make. Suddenly the telephone rang. Valjean smiled and shook his head. There was only one person that would call him on a Sunday afternoon. 

He stood up, went to the telephone and lifted the receiver. 

“Ah, Monsieur Javert. How are you?”  
There was a short silence on the other end of the line. “How did you know it was me?” Javert asked.  
Valjean chuckled. “You are the only one who calls on a Sunday afternoon.”  
“It is the only free day I have. Anyway … I just called to ask how your week was. I’m sorry I have so little time.”  
A typical conversation between the two middle aged men began, where they told each other what had happened during the week.  
Valjean said “Goodbye,” and was about to hang up the receiver when he heard that Javert say, a bit too loudly, “Jean … Don’t hang up”. 

Valjean looked at the receiver in his hand with surprise. That reaction was so not like Javert.  
“I’m still here,” was all the baker could manage to say. Suddenly he asked himself if it was something serious, and added slowly “Is everything alright?”  
While he was waiting for the answer he closed his eyes and hoped that he would hear a ‘Yes’ from the other end of the line.  
“Uhm … well … yes. It is just … uhm …”  
Valjean could hear how Javert was struggling to speak the words. What on earth was troubling him? 

After what felt like hours, Javert found the courage to ask Valjean to meet him next Sunday for a cup of coffee and a game of chess. 

Valjean couldn’t resist smiling at that. He liked to spend time with Javert, but always gave the handsome inspector the final say over when and where they met. He was aware that Javert was not too fond of socialising. Sometimes Valjean wished it wasn’t like that. He enjoyed spending time with Javert, talking to him face to face. Sometimes after a long workday, he wished he could just give Javert a call and meet with him in the evening—maybe have dinner together.  
Since Cosette moved in with Marius, Valjean felt more alone than ever and was yearning for company. But on the other hand, he was rather picky with whom he wanted to share his free time. 

So it was no wonder that he said, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, “Of course I have time. I would be delighted to share your company.”  
The silence at the other end of the line should have tipped him off that he’d been too quick to answer, but Valjean didn’t realize it.  
“Alright. See you at three in the evening. Goodbye, Valjean.” Before Valjean could answer, Javert hung up the phone. 

 

***

Javert looked at the telephone and was suddenly aware of how he had acted. As always, when he started to get nervous, he loosed the red ribbon of his ponytail, playing with it absentmindedly as he paced the room.  
Why on earth was he acting like a schoolboy? Sure, he liked Valjean a little too, but was this really acceptable behaviour for someone like him?  
Javert felt like the answer was way too simple. He was not used to simple answers; they always made the impression of being wrong or not fully thought through.  
He felt the ribbon gliding through his fingers. A soft and quick touch. 

What would it be like to feel Valjean’s fingers between his own? At this very thought Javert froze. Was it a crime to think of it? He was sure that currently he wanted nothing more from Valjean then just to be a bit closer to him. A tiny bit more than friendship. 

At this thought Javert bit his lip. He couldn’t stand it that he had lied to himself again. Only a little bit, but still a lie. He wanted more then cuddles and holding hands. Maybe a kiss every now and then.  
Javert closed his eyes and breathed out. It was silly to think that there would be more between them, more than just the friendship they had right now. He could have named a hundred reasons why Valjean had a special place in his life.

Valjean was one of the very few people that treated him like any other man on this planet. The baker knew how to deal with his difficult personality. Javert wasn’t so blind as to not realize that Valjean had that special unnameable something that made him interesting. The inspector would not go so far as to say that the baker was the most handsome man he had ever seen. He felt drawn to him, but more because of his personality.

Sure, he had to admit that the thought of them both kissing was such a delicious daydream that he was sure he wouldn’t say “no” if the situation should ever arise—but more? That was a question Javert couldn’t seriously answer.  
“Even if I wanted him in every single way, he’d never want someone like me.” The words came out with an angry undertone in the otherwise gloomy voice of the inspector.

 

***

 

Valjean went back to the couch, pondering over the way Javert had acted during their phone call. Was Javert really okay? For a split second the baker had the idea that there was something not right with Javert, and he was not sure how to tell him. After thinking about this idea Valjean came to the conclusion that this sounded acceptable, and yet this was not what he was searching for.  
Even if he had thought about it thousand times, Valjean would have never guessed that it was the simple fact that Javert had feelings towards him that went beyond friendship.  
All the baker knew was that he began to see Javert with different eyes a few months ago. Maybe like how some women saw the inspector: as a beautiful, mysterious man who carried out his duty.  
Now he was sure it was more then a little crush. The longer each of them lived separate lives, the more he missed his company, the sound of his voice. It was not easy for Valjean to be the one Javert knew. There were moments when he just wanted to risk everything and steal a kiss from the inspector.

How would Javert react? 

Valjean caught himself musing if Javert was capable of loving someone on a physical level. There were moments when Valjean realized that Javert wasn’t very fond of being touched. There was a point in their friendship when Valjean was sure they had already reached the level where it was acceptable to hug your friend every now and then, when they felt the need to comfort one another. Valjean only tried it a few times, because Javert always flinched when the baker invaded his personal space. 

Even now, the thought of these situations hurt Valjean. He would never harm Javert, but how could he assure him of that?—especially now, when he wanted to be close to him.  
He wanted to hold him close to his own body, touch him everywhere and not on his shoulder; the only area where Javert allows him to touch him.  
Would Javert allow him to place a kiss on his shoulder? Valjean swallowed at this thought. This was too much to ask for. Javert would never allow it.

Maybe if Valjean had been a woman? But then, he had never heard Javert speak about women. Every now and then Valjean had asked himself if Javert was even capable of feeling drawn to someone in the psychical way. Or was he simply blind to every kind of attraction? Was that something that didn’t matter in Javert’s life? Not that this was impossible; Valjean was merely curious.

Now that he looked at their relationship from this point of view, it made a bit more sense. No talking about women or men. No hints that there was someone who was interested in him. At the very thought that Javert might never have experienced intimacy, Valjean blushed and tried to clear it from his head. But it was already too late. He couldn’t resist wondering how Javert would react to that kind of thing. Would Javert would be scared? Aroused? Both? Would his cheeks flush as he tried to struggle away, even as he wanted to stay?

Valjean sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He should be thankful merely to have gained Javert’s friendship, and yet he wished for more. A part of him wanted to show the inspector how wonderful it could feel to be held in the arms of someone who cares about you. Valjean wanted to take away his fear of being touched, to show him the wonders that touches could do. But more then this he wanted to show Javert that he was worth the love he felt for him. Valjean wasn’t blind; he had recognized that Javert wasn’t very fond of himself. But that was a topic Valjean never tried to discuss with him.  
Once again he realized that Javert was still a mystery to him.

 

As he reached for the cup of coffee, he found it long cold, so he decided not to drink it. Sure, supposedly cold coffee would make you beautiful, but that was just a saying.  
For a split second a smile crossed his face. If he became beautiful in Javert’s definition of the word, he would probably drink cold coffee all day.  
Bemused, he shook his head. Were these silly thoughts usual when you were in love? 

He reached for his laptop and shut it down. Now that he knew that Javert would come over on Sunday, Valjean immediately knew what he would bake: Javert’s favourite cookies. But maybe he would try out a few new shapes to make them look nicer. 

 

The week seemed to crawl by at a snail’s pace. The minutes felt like hours, the hours like days.  
Finally it was Saturday, and Valjean went to the grocery store to buy what he needed for the cookies. At the market he brought fresh raspberries. That was one thing Javert and he shared: they preferred them over strawberries, which were, in their opinion, a bit overrated. 

It was a warm summer morning, and the marketplace was full of people. He brought a croissant and went to the fountain in the middle of the marketplace, his favourite spot. As he leaned over the edge of the fountain, eating his second breakfast, his thoughts began to drift to Javert. 

Suddenly he froze. The meaning of raspberries came back to him-what it meant when you eat them with someone. Hadn’t he planned to find a way to show Javert his affections? Perhaps it wouldn’t be obvious, but still, he wanted to show Javert that he had a special place in his life and that he cared for him. On Sunday he would eat raspberries together with the person he loved.  
Was it a coincidence that he’d happened to decide on buying raspberries today? It had to be. But it was easy to believe a higher power had its hand in this. Valjean shook his head. He was sure that God had more important things to do than help Javert and he find each other.

 

When he came home, Valjean found a letter from Cosette in his post box. She wrote that they planned to go on vacation and would like to invite him too, since it was a long time since they all had been together like a family.  
Valjean was torn. He wanted to tell her that while it was nice of them to think of him, he would be just in the way, and she should have a good time with Marius. Yet another part of him would like to take a little time off from his current life. 

At this point, his conscience told him he’d soon regret the decision to go. A change of scenery wouldn’t stop him from thinking about Javert, especially when they would be separated even moreso.  
If he was true to himself, he would have tried to find an excuse not to go with the two lovebirds. They were young and needed to see the world, to go out and have fun—and he was a middle aged man who was currently on another journey of self-discovery. 

 

While he was worked in his kitchen, Valjean didn’t spend a single thought on anything else besides what he was doing. It was his happy place, where he felt most in the element, and it helped calm him no matter what was troubling him.  
While the first pan of cookies were in the oven he decided to make the next batch—chocolate shortbread sandwich cookies with fresh raspberry butter cream filling—into shapes. At first he wanted to make them stars, but then his romantic side took control, and he ended up making them into hearts instead.

He raised an eyebrow at himself even as he did it. Was it really a good idea? Well, that was something he could decide later. If he later found he didn’t have the guts to give them to Javert, he could send them to Cosette and Marius. 

After he was finished with his kitchen work he decided to look for a nice paper box to put the cookies in. So he went into the city for the second time that day. After he’d visited a gift shop, he was heading home with a light blue box with stars on it when he decided to take the long way through the park.  
The flowers were blooming and the air was filled with the sweet scent of summer. Bees and butterflies were flying though the air, and birds were chirping from the heights of the trees.  
He wished he could spend a day with Javert here like all the other couples he saw, but he was sure such things would never become anything more than daydreams.  
Back home, he decided to go to bed early. After the comforting warmth of a bubble bath, he donned his nightgown and went to sleep. 

 

Before the first birds sang, he woke up.  
Anticipation was flooding through his veins. He had a lot of long hours before him, and he had to find something to do other than sitting around and wishing it was three o’clock.  
After dressing himself, he went into the kitchen, made coffee and put the special cookies in the gift box. The other ones found themselves a few minutes later on the glass plate.  
While the smell of fresh coffee was filling the air, he wrote a few lines on the tiny card which had come with the gift box.

 

Around two, Valjean became more and more nervous. He arranged the place settings on the table multiple times until he was satisfied with it. He wanted everything to be perfect. A half hour later he suddenly had the idea of putting on his best clothes but his inner self was shaking its head in disbelief. This kind of behaviour would make Javert suspicious.  
He had just set the coffee pot and the cookie plate on the table when the long anticipated ringing of the doorbell disturbed the silence.  
Javert had visited him a few times before, but now, with so much more affection for him having grown since then in Valjean’s heart, it was like it felt like it was for the first time. 

 

Valjean opened the door with a nervous smile. “Hello, Javert. I am glad to see you.”  
The shadow of a smile flashed quickly over the inspector’s face before disappearing. “Hello, Jean.”  
At Valjean’s invitation, he stepped in, and the man shut the door behind him.

“I decided that it’s time you stop calling me by my surname …” Javert told him bashfully, looking into Valjean’s brown eyes. “I’ve finally reached the point where I trust you enough. You know … not many people know my first name. It’s not something you go around giving just anyone.”  
Valjean was perplexed when he heard these words.  
He had gained that much trust from the man?—that Javert would allow him the intimacy of knowing his first name?  
Had he himself not allowed him to call him “Jean”, in an attempt to destroy the distance between them? Was that what Javert was doing now? Destroying the distance?  
“I’m sorry if that was a little out of the blue,” the inspector murmured.  
“No need to feel sorry.” Valjean wanted to add “Javert” but restrained himself.  
“So, you are Jean, and I am Gaston.” He offered Valjean his hand. 

Slowly the baker reached for the hand. His thoughts were spinning. Javert had been here not two minutes and he had given him his first name and offered him his hand. That was really more then Valjean expected to get.  
“How was your week?” Valjean asked. “I hope you can tell me something good about it over coffee.” 

 

They sat down at the nicely set table.  
Javert noticed Valjean seemed to be trying to impress him. Was it normal to do that for a good friend?  
“You have a talent for making a coffee table a beautiful arrangement, Jean,” Javert snickered. “As if I was someone special” As soon as the words were spoken he wished that for once he could stop spilling these remarks out whenever Valjean did something nice.  
Even though Valjean was used to such comments from Javert, they still pained him. He wanted to open Javert’s eyes and make him realize that he was someone special.  
“You are,” he said, “believe it or not. But no talking about this anymore. So tell me, Gaston, how was your week? By the way, I made your favourite cookies.”

Their weeks hadn’t been terribly interesting, so mostly they ate in silence.  
Later, they went outside to smoke on the balcony and have a beautiful view over the rooftops of Paris. There was a peaceful silence between them. A silence you can’t have with just anyone.  
When Valjean went into the kitchen to get glasses and a bottle of water, he saw the gift box.  
Maybe now was a good time? Was there really a good time for a serious topic like that? Surely he should wait until later ... but then, he would he really find any more strength than he had now?  
So he brought the glasses and the bottle on the balcony and said to Javert, “I have forgotten something.”

 

Javert looked at him questioningly.  
He was not particularly pleased with himself. He should have been more open and talkative, to give Valjean a show of good faith. But Javert was not a very social person, and found difficulty in doing so. Valjean seemed to understand that, though.

Javert stood at the edge of the balcony, gazing over the rooftops. He was lost in his thoughts of Valjean, which seemed to grow ever more confused the more time he spent with the man.  
He didn’t realize Valjean had come back until the man was standing right beside him. 

“Gaston, I have something for you,” he said.  
For him? Since when did anyone give him gifts?  
Irritated, Javert turned around. “For me? Why do you make things for me? I don’t understand it.”  
Valjean snickered. “Because you are a wonderful friend, and I really appreciate your company, that’s why.”  
Was he really talking about him? Since when was Javert a good friend?  
“Thank you, Jean,” was all he could say.  
Valjean handed him the blue gift box he’d been holding.  
As soon as he saw it, Javert laughed. “So when you see stars you think of me?” But then he stopped and blushed. He wanted to turn his gaze away from Valjean but refrained.  
“Friends think of friends when they see something that they like,” Valjean said.

 

A part of Valjean couldn’t resist thinking Javert’s behaviour was adorable. The man appeared as though he’d never seen a present in his life.  
Javert looked at the gift box, back up at Valjean, and then back to the box in Valjean’s slightly trembling hands. He went back to his chair and waited until Valjean sat down next to him.  
“I don’t understand …” he trailed off. Because he could not think of anything more to say, he opened the gift box and stared at it with disbelief.

First he opened the light blue envelope and read the card within. He wasn’t sure how to react.  
He had not realized how fond Valjean really was of him.  
A few words can mean the world. 

 

Valjean studied Javert from the side. The mixture of emotion in the face of the inspector was both beautiful and sad—beautiful because he, Jean Valjean, had caused it—and sad because it seemed that no one else had ever seen it.  
“I didn’t know” was all Javert could say.  
Then he unfolded the wax paper to reveal the heart shaped cookies on the bottom.

Before Javert could ask why on earth these cookies looked like Valentine’s Day cookies, Valjean explained “I know they’re your favourite, that’s why I made them for today. I wanted to show you that I know a bit about you, and I’m always glad when I can make you happy. Everyone deserves to be happy.  
I know the shape could maybe lead to wrong interpretations but think of it as a way to show you how much of a dear friend you are. That I’m glad you are a part of my life. Don’t forget that the heart is also associated with strength and goodness.”

In his thoughts Valjean added “As much I love you as a friend I can’t stop thinking about you as being more then a friend to me.”

Wrong interpretations? Maybe you are right and a glimpse of a moment I though that you want to confess something to me. But that was just one of my silly thoughts. Javert couldn’t help but feeling a dull sadness rising inside of his heart. He was sure that he was never good enough for someone, especially not some like Valjean.

Later that night Javert couldn’t find any sleep. After tossing and turning in the sheets, he got up and went on his balcony. He stood there in the night, looking up at the stars every now and then while smoking a cigarette.  
Valjean had said a lot of nice things to him, but what had impressed him most was that Valjean had made something for him, just because he liked him that much.  
Javert could still his words: “Because you are a wonderful friend, and I really appreciate your company, that’s why.” Just the thought of them made him smile.  
Maybe he was really a good friend.


End file.
